


Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump Away

by Tell_Me_Tales



Series: 'Tales Retold [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (de facto) Dadster, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Badster, Brothers, Culture Shock, Family, Gen, Good W. D. Gaster, Houseplant Flowey, Male Frisk, Multiverse, On Indefinite Hiatus, Sans Sees Dead People, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underfell W. D. Gaster, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Underswap W. D. Gaster, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 13:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20436806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: Sans had only meant to retrieve a few things from the old house that had been forgotten during the move to the Surface. Getting ambitious with his ability to bend spacetime lands him in an unfamiliar Underground that seems to take his stubborn optimism as a personal insult.-----Sans had been minding his own business when an unknown skeleton suddenly fell into his life. He might have been able to take that in stride -- if the shrimp hadn't let his association with Gaster slip.-----Papyrus takes a monster in need into his home and hopes the decision will not be one he later regrets. His house guest appears to be a bit funny in the head but ultimately harmless, and Papyrus will admit his curiosity has been stirred with the abrupt discovery of a third skeleton.-----TL;DRIt's a Swap!Sans in Underfell story.





	1. If a Skeleton Falls in a Forest, He Makes a lot of Noise

**Author's Note:**

> This author values and encourages:
> 
>   * Constructive critique
>   * Notification of typos, misspellings, grammatical mistakes, and other writing errors
>   * Feedback on storytelling strengths and weaknesses
>   * Theorizing on character motivations, past events, future story beats, etc.
>   * Reader-to-reader conversation in the comments
> 
> In the comments section, this author generally:
> 
>   * Replies to questions
>   * Attempts to avoid spoilers
>   * Is an imperfect human being, but such is life

It's the sound of snapping wood that jolts Sans from the fitful nap he'd been having at his sentry post. And it's not the quiet sound of some dried out stick getting trampled underfoot in the snow. No, this had been a noise more akin to a tree being split in two by a monster powerful enough to dust Sans with a look.

"The hell was that?" he asks himself in a whisper, eyes narrowed and mood soured. Cautiously, entire body tense and ready to react at the slightest hint of danger, Sans abandons his chair to investigate.

Sure enough, a few feet off to the west of his station there's a downed branch that had been happily attached to the tree above it when he'd shown up for work. More importantly, there's a lump of bright blue and white laying motionless on top of the victimized piece of pine.

Little hands hidden away by a pair of obnoxious, eye-searingly cyan gloves twitch in the snow a bit before a loud groan fills the air. "Oh, ow," moans the unknown monster, "That was a rough landing. Guess I shouldn't have skipped that chapter!" A weak chuckle gets cut off by a pitiful whimper. "Wow. Okay. Feels like something broke." The monster gingerly pushes himself up into a sitting position and pulls up the t-shirt he's wearing to reveal several cracked ribs.

Sans' mind feels jumbled upon realizing this unfamiliar monster is another skeleton. He hadn't thought there were any left. Not beside himself and Papyrus, anyway. Of course, that will probably be the case again soon enough if this guy is actually as much of an imbecile as he seems to be.

Seriously, he's making a bunch of noise, advertising his injured status to all and sundry, and he hasn't even checked his surroundings yet! If there was anyone other than Sans around, this idiot would already be dust for whatever pathetic amount of EXP killing him is worth. Hell, Sans is half-tempted to do it himself, just for how stupid he's been acting.

The other skeleton's skull tips down and a gloved hand carefully prods at the cracks. He hisses a breath out between his teeth. "Yep," he announces to the world at large, "a real side-splitter."

Sans freezes stock still. Was that a pun?

"Heh he--" the stranger's laughter is instantly seized upon by a pained groan, "Gha! _Ouch._" The monster frowns down at his own rib cage. "Don't tell me that fall broke my funny bone, too."

This time, Sans is snickering before he can think better of it. "Kheh heh heh, classic."

"_Oh!_" the other skeleton gasps. He drops his shirt and looks over his shoulder at Sans in surprise before it's swiftly covered up with a wide grin. "Sorry, I didn't realize I had an audience! But you did laugh, so I guess it wouldn't be going too far out on a limb to assume you found my jokes punny?"

"Heh. I ain't got any _bones_ to pick with your sense of humor, if that's what you're getting at," Sans replies, "though I may need to _rib_ ya a little if you _crack_ any worse than the ones I've already heard." He gives the other a shit-eating grin as he finishes.

"_Snrk!_" The skeleton bites back a chortle but his eyelights dance with mirth. He pushes himself to his feet and says as he approaches, "Wow, you don't like to leave any doubts when it comes to your punishing wordplay, do you? I always preferred a bone-dry delivery, myself." He holds out a hand to Sans. "What's your name, friend?"

He examines the offered hand suspiciously. He has no idea what could be hiding under that glove. His eyelights dart over the other skeleton in a knee-jerk threat assessment. The other guy is even smaller than he is, making him downright puny for a monster. He wears no armor and carries no visible weapon. Everything about him is open and friendly and screaming easy-target. To put it bluntly, this little guy may as well be a walking neon sign reading: _'Free EXP! Here it is!'_ And yet, here he stands with only minor injuries instead of being a pile of so much dust in some forgotten stretch of the Underground. If he isn't a walking trap, and Sans isn't quite ready to call it either way just yet, then there is something far stranger going on here than Sans has been able to guess at so far.

He tucks both hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, ignoring how the other's smile dims for an instant before stubbornly bouncing back. "I'm Sans," he answers as he watches the other retract their offered hand, "Sans the Skeleton."

The other skeleton's odd, cyan eyelights gutter out for a second before flaring back to life even brighter than they'd been previously. A slight magic flush that Sans hadn't noticed before disappears from his cheeks, leaving behind pale bone. The monster manages to stumble even though he'd been standing still. "I-I'm sorry, you..."

Sans feels his brow rise, curious about the monster's strange reaction, despite himself. "Ya heard of me before, buddy?"

"Y-yes? W-well, actually no. I'm starting to think -- Oh, boy," he flounders, eyelights skittering around their surroundings for several seconds until they once again settle on Sans, "S-sorry, I'm a bit disoriented. Could I have your full name? Please?" His hands tug anxiously on the tail end of his scarf.

This is definitely getting weird.

"Comic Sans," he states, his suspicions rising again, "Shouldn't ya be able to figure that out on your own?"

The other skeleton waves an absent-minded finger at his own temple and says, "Font blind."

"Really?" he asks curiously. There's no way to prove it, of course -- not beyond the other skeleton's claims, anyway -- and he's never heard of such a condition before, but it's an intriguing idea.

"Yep, no sneaky subtitles for me. If I didn't hear it the first time, I don't get a chance to catch up on my reading," he takes another uncertain glance at the towering trees that make up the immediate landscape, "This is, uh, the forest near Snowdin, right?"

"Sure is, short stuff," he smirks at the scowl he receives in response. "Ya haven't exactly given me a name," he reminds. The other skeleton flushes in embarrassment but, before he can say anything, Sans again taunts, "Short stuff."

The blue-clad monster huffs in annoyance and crosses his arms. "Ryan," he mutters in a petulant tone, "You can call me Ryan."

"'Ryan'? What sorta skeleton name is that?" he sneers. He's never heard of a font called 'Ryan.' It sounds like a --

'Ryan' shrugs. "It's not," he says, "but I'm kinda sans a font name."

"What? How can ya not know your own font?" Sans demands. The thought agitates him. It's not right for a skeleton to be without a font name. If he had to guess, 'Ryan' is probably the kid's old name. <strike>And what sort of caretakers had this skeleton had that they would allow him to cling to his old name and, by extension, his old life?</strike> The second thought doesn't sit any better than the first one. <strike>Or the third, for that matter.</strike>

Ryan aborts a huff halfway through the action with a wince. "I _told_ you, I'm fo--"

"And there weren't any other skeletons around when ya woke up to tell ya?" he challenges. Though, now that he's paying more attention to the shape of the words falling out of the little monster's mouth, it occurs to him that likely hadn't been the problem.

"Well, yes," the smaller skeleton shifts uncomfortably, "but they said it was... strange."

"No kiddin'." Sans tilts his head and squints at the weird characters lingering in the air between them. They fade before he is satisfied with this study of them. "Keep talking, babybones."

"I am not a babybones!" he objects loudly, "And, uh, what do you want me to..."

Sans has already stopped listening, or even reading along, to the words of the skeleton in front of him. He's far more interested in the odd, shifting letters that make them up. The characters flicker between at least two fonts -- possibly even a third set, but he isn't certain. It's hard to tell when the differences are subtle and the characters keep changing at irregular intervals.

"...may as well start reciting the alphabet, for all you care..."

One font is instantly recognizable as a match to his own Comic Sans. (Not _terribly_ surprising. It was a common enough font, once.) The other set of characters is also a Sans Serif font, but he can't place it offhand. He wishes he had access to a fonts directory. The <strike>Doc's</strike> family copy had gotten trashed ages ago.

"...course, we never were able to figure out if being font blind was the reason my characters never settled, or if both were symptoms caused by something else. Yet another thing Wings decided to endlessly obsess over..."

The words manage to snag Sans' attention. Someone that's already spent time studying the phenomenon might have some interesting insights to share, so he asks, "Who is 'Wings'?"

"Doctor Wingdings Gaster."

Sans stiffens. It's been a long time since he last heard that name. "You knew the Doc?" he questions, trying to keep the renewed suspicion out of his voice.

It becomes immediately apparent that he failed.

Ryan's eyelights wink out once more and his face displays open regret for all of a split-second before it is smothered by a nervous smile. "Uh, no?" the other skeleton tries, "Pretty sure we're talking about two different people!"

"I doubt that," Sans growls. How many skeletons with two-font names can there be? Especially when one of those fonts is as rare as Wingdings?

Ryan glances around anxiously and holds his hands up in a helpless 'I'm unarmed, see?' gesture as he attempts to back away. Sans matches him step for step with a menacing scowl painted over his face.

"Welp, it was ice to meet you, Sans," Ryan says, "but I'm getting the feeling I've overstayed my welcome."

"Oh, you ain't goin' anywh--"

"I think it would be best if I skipped town."

Between one step and the next, the smaller monster vanishes.

Sans stares for a full three seconds at the empty space in front of him and the tracks in the snow that abruptly cut off. Then he starts swearing a blue streak.

Ryan can shortcut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Undertale and Underswap were unrelated but shared a cousin, that cousin would be [the universe that 'Ryan' is from](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768423). I consider him to be a flavor of "blueberry," but those with a more strict view of how the popular AUs should be portrayed will probably hold a different opinion from my own. I'm not going to bother trying to change any minds on that front but hopefully some of you reading this will enjoy the story regardless of my playing fast and loose with the rules of well established AUs.


	2. An Extended Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think Sans and Papyrus were once human in Undertale canon? Not really. Where do I place the odds that Gaster somehow created or was in some way father to the Skele Bros? Doubtful. Do I buy the idea that Sans (or anyone else, for that matter) can interact with Void!Gaster at all? Nope. Am I going to play with these tropes anyway? ABSOLUTELY.

Sans stumbles and nearly lands on his coccyx as his feet go from trudging backward through snow to trampling over worn carpet. A quick look around the room confirms his fears.

The house he has arrived in is eerily familiar but ultimately foreign. He hasn't made it home. In fact, he's the farthest away from his home he's ever been before. It's hard to get farther than a reality away, after all.

At least, he _thinks_ that is what happened, that somehow when he skipped he managed to accidentally jump universes rather than staying safely in his own, like he should have. But he could be wrong about that. He's never been the scientist in the family -- that was Wings, and then Papy -- though he's picked up a few things from his brothers, here and there. (And not all of them were socks! Ad-mitten-ly, there had been a lot of that, too, before he'd put his foot down. No, no! Focus, Sans! You need to find a way home!)

"Right!" Sans says and draws himself up to stand at his full height, only to wince and shrink back into a slouch as the motion pulls on his ribs. "Okay, bandages first. Can't get back to Papy if I dust myself before I even get started." It's probably not that bad. None of his bones are _broken,_ just a little cracked. Not a big deal! If he had a bit more natural HP, he wouldn't even be worried.

Sans sighs, slow and shallow to keep from aggravating the injury, as he makes his way into the kitchen and mutters, "If only..." Another day, another problem to beat into submission via stubborn optimism. Just his own personal equivalent of determination, he supposes.

(He hopes Frisk will keep his end of the deal while Sans is away. Sans thinks he will, but Frisk might also try to _fix_ Sans' absence with a reset and Sans has no idea what will happen if he tries to do just that. Hopefully, either Flowey or Papy will be able to talk him out of attempting a reset if Frisk tries to fall back on old habits.)

The small skeleton does his best to dismiss the worrisome thoughts with a shake of his skull. There isn't anything he can do about Frisk right now. He should be focussing on what he _can_ do on his side of things.

Sans stops in front of the sink and gingerly bends down to fish the first aid kit out from the cabinet. He deposits it on the table and then hoists himself onto the nearest chair. Sans bites back the yelp of discomfort the action tries to draw out of him. He flips open the case of the first aid kit and stares.

"Wow, this, uh, this is a real bandaid solution, huh?" he asks the empty room. He's never seen such a poorly supplied medical kit in his life. There's a handful of adhesive bandages, a small roll of medical gauze -- none of which is imbued with any healing magic! -- and an empty bottle that claims it was once full of whiskey. There's a sticky note stuck to the bottle: _boss, sorry i drank all the booze. i'll get more from grilbz._ "I guess whoever put this together was really plastered."

Sans frowns down at the kit. Nothing here is going to do much for his ribs and he is loath to take any supplies from a source that is already so depleted. Someone else could need them more. Perhaps even this world's version of himself! Or... Does he even exist here?

This world's Comic Sans hadn't seemed inclined to compare him to anyone else. Come to that, this world still had its Comic Sans. Comic had been dusted during the Human-Monster War in his own world and Sans had never had the chance to meet him. Would Wingdings have any interest in raising another skeleton when he already had two babybones to take care of?

Well, he knows one way to find out. Provided being scattered across time and space includes different worlds and universes, anyway.

"Hey, Wingdings, you there?" Sans asks.

The instant he finishes speaking, a large figure made of ink-black ichor topped with an ivory, mask-like face appears in front of him. Jagged cracks split the face nearly in two and the smile it wears looks far from friendly.

Sans screams and topples backward out of his chair.

"Calm down, Brother. This is merely the version of myself that once lived in this universe. He insisted on coming along to make your acquaintance."

Sans' gaze jerks from the horror in front of him to the source of the voice. "Wings!" he greets in a relieved sigh.

Wingdings looks perfectly at ease, leaning with a hip resting against the table a bit off to Sans' right side. "Hello, Ryan," he returns, face shifting subtly to take on a softer look, "It's been a long time since you last insisted on anyone calling you by your human name."

Sans wrings the phalanges of his hands. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't proper etiquette, but the idea of asking Comic to call me 'Sans' feels wrong and I didn't have another name ready to give him."

"As we've discussed on numerous occasions before, 'Sans' was a very common diminutive among skeletons. This world's Comic would have thought very little of it."

Sans scuffs a bright cyan boot over the kitchen tile. "Still feels like stealing," he mutters softly to himself. Of course, his brother hears him anyway.

Wings sighs. "I made many mistakes raising you, in both senses of the word," he states, "This lingering guilt over events and actions you had no part in is perhaps the biggest of them all. You haven't stolen or taken anything from Comic. I was grieving, that much is true, and terribly ill-informed on how to go about raising another skeleton, but I don't regret my decision to bring you into our family. In fact, I'm quite proud to have been the one responsible for ushering the Magnificent Sans into monsterkind."

"Thanks, Wings," Sans chokes out, eyelights wobbling and liquid magic pooling at the corners of his sockets.

Wingdings expression turns ever-so-slightly mischievous. "Oh yes, you're definitely among my top five greatest creations. Perhaps after the Core?" he asks with a teasing lilt, holding his chin in mock contemplation, "That was certainly a grand achievement, I must say."

Sans makes a faux affronted sound that is just shy of a squawk and shoves his brother. Wingdings is kind enough to play along as if Sans' touch could actually affect a being outside of regular spacetime. "_Please,_ Brother," he says, putting on a haughty air, "We both know I am your most magnificent achievement! Why, the world is not big enough to contain twice the amount of sheer greatness you put into me! Mweh heh heh!"

"Ah, yes. How silly of me to forget," Wings agrees, repressed mirth flicking in his eyelights and scrunching up the outer edges of his sockets.

"You two are very, very interesting," his brother's alternate rasps. His voice is every bit as disturbing as his visage and it sends a chill through Sans. "All these little games you play to protect his fragile, linear mind," the creature muses as he dismisses Sans with one last glance and focuses entirely on his counterpart, "Is he truly worth so much effort?"

Sans almost speaks up to remind this foreign version of his brother that he is playing the same game, talking in an easy-to-follow, linear fashion and appearing in only one place at a time, moving at the same speed consistent with the rest of the world. None of it is necessary for a being that exists so far outside of anything that Sans has the capability to understand, yet he is still constraining himself to within the limits of the 'game.'

"Oh, I am very aware, little monster," he replies before Sans can say a word, breaking the rules of linear interaction. That hadn't been a mistake. Sans is certain of it. It was a threat. A real one. "Ask the question, whelp!" he hisses as his mask-like face contorts into a scowl, "Neither I nor your 'brother' are mind-readers!"

Right, paradoxes are something to be avoided. They are one of the few things that can cause Wings further harm. A quick glance confirms that his brother is tied closely enough to this particular paradox to be affected, so Sans steels himself and asks, "You do realize you're playing by the rules of the game, too?" Except he has already broken the rules once, now. Not that linear time means much to a being of the Void. Regardless, Sans decides against saying anything else while this unpleasant Wingdings Gaster remains nearby. Or, at least, perceptively close. A being scattered across spacetime is never far away, but Sans tries not to think on that or its many implications often.

(It suddenly dawns on Sans that it would be very helpful to have nicknames of some kind to differentiate all of this world's monsters from his own world's inhabitants, if only in his head. And it only makes sense to start with the one in front of him. He thinks 'Gaster' might work. It seems like the right thing to call his brother's doppelganger. And even if he were inclined to such things, he isn't about to search for something disrespectful to call a being that could easily destroy his mind.)

Wings' and Gaster's expressions both ease as the paradox is resolved. But Sans has his suspicions that even that is a part of their linear 'game.'

"That's strike one and I'll thank you not to do it again," Wings growls, eyelights flaring deep purple, "We have a deal if you recall."

"Surely a simple experiment isn't worth such fuss?" Gaster asks. His tone is mocking.

"I only made the deal to help him," Wings tips his head to indicate Sans, "I won't hesitate to drop it if you endanger my brother. And do keep in mind that I am not the only one getting something from this deal. I have no qualms about leaving you alone and forgotten again."

Sans frowns. Things aren't adding up properly.

Gaster must never make it to strike three, or else the deal never would have been made and Wingdings wouldn't be here now. He thinks. Unless Void-beings can't see _all_ of each other because they both exist outside of regular time and space? Is there a Void-spacetime they share and so are blind to one another's past and future? This is so far over his head.

Regardless, the Sans of this world definitely remembers his Wingdings Gaster. He had called Gaster 'the Doc,' and gotten pretty hostile. But still, that meant Gaster hasn't been _forgotten_. At least, not completely.

(And he really needs to think up a nickname for this Comic Sans, too. Sans is his name. <strike>Usually. Sometimes it's nice to remember he was once Ryan, even if that is a memory best kept between just himself and Wings.</strike> Having two Sanses about would get confusing in a hurry, even if Wings insists that it wouldn't cause other problems. And Comic is the name of a brother he never got to know except through the stories Wings would sometimes tell. He's not sure what else would be appropriate.)

Sans is dragged back from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening. Loud, sure footsteps herald the arrival of another monster. His eyelights travel up, up, up to meet those of the new addition as the other skeleton stops short in surprise.

Sans knows this monster isn't _his_ brother but he still hadn't expected him to be so different from the lazybones he knows. This monster is all sharp edges with an air of promised danger. The contrast is staggering and causes him to doubt.

If he was thinking more clearly, perhaps he would have realized in time what a bad idea it was to call out to this strange monster, perhaps he would have skipped out before the introductions, even. But in his shock, Sans finds himself questioning, "Papyrus?"


	3. The Easiest Enemy

Papyrus stares at the ridiculously small home invader standing in the middle of his kitchen in stunned silence. Is he dreaming? Had Sans drugged his food in an attempt to force him to rest? His brother had promised not to do so again after the disastrous results of the last time, but the hypothetical treachery seems more likely than the idea that he is truly face-to-face with a monster -- a _skeleton,_ no less! -- foolish enough to trespass in the house belonging to the Great and Terrible Lieutenant Papyrus.

Wide sockets stare up at him and the tiny skeleton -- even smaller than Sans! -- gasps, "Papyrus?"

It's enough to drag the tall skeleton back from his stupor. Papyrus raises a cage of bones around his unwelcome guest with a well-practiced flick of his wrist as he crosses his arms.

The little skeleton yelps at the sudden appearance of the conjured bones before freezing in place as the attacks quickly close in around the monster only to halt just shy of impact. The hastily constructed cage doesn't leave room for so much as a single step in any direction.

"Apparently, you are aware of who I am," Papyrus states, tone promising pain and regret should the other decide to test him, "Good! That means I shouldn't have to tell you how much trouble you have just found yourself in. Now, small skeleton, give me one good reason why I shouldn't eliminate you immediately for trespassing!"

Honestly, he hopes the other monster _is_ able to give him an excuse. Papyrus hates the adrenalin-like rush of gaining EXP that leaves his hands shaking. There's also the dust to consider, and it gets _everywhere._ He'd really rather not deal with trying to clean up such a mess in his own home, not to mention the lingering smell of death it would no-doubt leave behind. Lastly, not that he will ever tell another soul -- although Sans has likely guessed as much long ago -- Papyrus would do nearly anything to avoid having to kill anyone ever again. The metaphorical weight of taking a life hangs heavily on his shoulders and presses firmly against the cervical vertebrae of his neck.

But the Underground is no place for weakness and it is _rarely_ a place for second chances. If this monster is unable to provide a way to justify an act of mercy, Papyrus will have to kill him. After all, if Papyrus were to let him go unpunished -- let alone without a good, solid reason! -- and if the incident were then to become known, it would mark Sans and himself as soft, easy targets. He will not risk Sans' safety for a stranger, and especially not for one that has so stupidly put himself in harm's way.

"Well?" he demands, patience waning as the other skeleton continues to stare at him mutely, "Are you such a miserable wretch that you will say nothing in the hope that I might spare your pathetic life?" Usually, there is at least mindless, worthless begging. The extended silence and unbroken stare are disconcerting. Thankfully, his question succeeds in breaking the former, if not the latter.

"You were serious about that?" the monster screeches in wide-eye-socketed horror.

"Of course! How else did you expect the Great and Terrible Papyrus would deal with an intruder caught in his own home?"

The monster's jaw works noiselessly for a moment and then, "Papy, you can't just kill people!"

Is... Is this tiny _criminal_ attempting to _scold_ him? The utter gall!

"I think you will find that I can," Papyrus growls lowly, but the little skeleton suddenly isn't paying attention to him.

"What do you mean murder is legal here?" the skeleton hisses through his teeth in the general direction of Papyrus' right shoulder.

The taller monster spins to confront the previously undetected interloper, magic gathering to --

There is nothing but empty space behind him.

"No! Wait! Don't go yet!"

Papyrus glances back and forth between his captive and the unoccupied area he seems to be addressing. Is the little monster touched in the head? Would dusting the wretch actually be a merciful action? The monster's apparent insanity isn't _contagious,_ is it? The last thought is distressing. More information is needed.

Papyrus repurposes his half-summoned magic to perform a simple check on the monster in his kitchen. What he reads is bewildering. For many reasons.

** * SANS 0 ATK 2 DEF**   
** * Looks like free EXP.**   
** * Can't even deal 1 damage.**

"How are you not dust yet?" Papyrus wonders.

"Um..." The small skeleton blinks his eye sockets and says, "Through the power of magic and hope?"

"No! That isn't -- _Ugh!_ Nevermind!" Papyrus runs a hand down his face and considers his options in dealing with the conundrum that's figuratively fallen into his lap. He reaches a decision in short order.

"Do not attempt to run," he warns and waves the bone-cage away with only the slightest of hesitations. This monster is hardly a threat and he can reconstruct it in a bare half-second if the other skeleton gives him cause to do so. "I have many questions and you are going to answer them, but we will do so sitting at the table like civilized monsters. You will use that chair, there." He points to the aforementioned chair as he stares down his unexpected guest, half-prepared for backtalk and snarling, or perhaps nervous excuses, before he remembers those are his brother's usual reactions and this strangely-similar-appearing monster -- who for some reason even has the same name as said brother! -- has been acting very differently.

"Okay, Papy," the new Sans says, obediently heading for the indicated piece of furniture.

He is, for the most part, pleasantly surprised by the compliance but he refuses to allow such a childish nickname to be continuously applied to his person. "My name is 'Papyrus,'" he growls, if a bit softer than he had upon first discovering the other in his home, "If that is too long for you, you may address me as 'Sir.'"

"O-oh, okay, Pap-yrus."

The near slip up is noticeable but appears to be genuine and not an attempt to slight him. It is acceptable for the time being.

"Now then," Papyrus begins after taking his own seat and folding his hands neatly on the table's surface, "What are you doing in my home? Why were you rifling through the first aid kit? Are you injured? What were you going to do next if I hadn't found you when I did? I was unaware there was a third skeleton in the Underground. Where did you come from? Where have you been living up to this point? Will there be anyone coming to find you? If so, will they come to reclaim you by force? Why do you look so similar to my brother? And why do you have the same name? Your font is not Comic Sans. It is... very strange. Well?"

"I, uh, that's a lot of questions," the little skeleton -- Sans, though he is definitely going to have to find something else to call him. -- says with anxious fidgeting.

"Yes. And I look forward to hearing the answer for every one of them."

"That might take a while," he says as if that will somehow change Papyrus' mind.

He stares down at the smaller monster with unwavering eyelights. Very pointedly, he says, "You have time. I suggest you start quickly, however, because my patience with your delays is beginning to wear thin."

Papyrus is known to be tenacious on a good day. Obtaining his goals has only ever been a matter of persistence and time, and, seeing as he has already finished his work for the day, he happens to have plenty of time available to devote to this particular venture. He'll get the answers he wants, no matter how much this _Sans_ would rather keep his secrets.


	4. Sans' Problems

"I guess I should start by introducing myself?" Sans asks tentatively. At the taller skeleton's slight nod, he continues, "My name is Sans Serif, but everyone just calls me Sans!" He leans over the table and offers his hand for a handshake but the gesture is met with the same suspicion that the other Sans had given it earlier. Maybe it's something about this world's customs, then? Are handshakes considered rude here? Sans withdraws his arm and nervously taps his gloved phalanges against the tabletop instead.

"Anyway," Sans says, "I'm sorry for intruding in your home. I fell out of a tree earlier and this was the first place I could think of that might have something to patch up my ribs. It didn't look like you have much in your first aid kit that would help, though, so I didn't take anything.

"I don't really know where I should go now. I'm sure my brother will come to bring me home eventually, but there's no telling how long it will be before he's able to. Uh, you don't happen to know of someplace nearby where I could wait for him, do you?"

The Papyrus across from him is wearing a strange expression, something caught between anger and sadness. "'Eventually,' you say? Does that mean you expect him in a matter of hours or days?"

"I... don't know?" If he had to guess, though, it will be at least weeks and possibly months or years. He'll need to ask Wings the next time he has a chance to speak with his elder brother. Interdimensional retrieval is a tall order, even for a brilliant scientist like Papy.

"I see," Papyrus murmurs, "And in the meantime, you have no place to stay?"

Sans' eyelights skitter away from Papyrus' own. In this much, the tall skeleton is uncomfortably like Sans' brother. The intense stare feels as if it can spot and unravel every unspoken thought in his skull. "N-not really, no."

"How long have you and your brother been homeless?"

"We're not homeless!" Sans objects, vaguely offended even as he suddenly realizes how his words must have sounded to the other. He's worked hard ever since Wingdings' accident to meet his family's needs. There's actually been a good bit of spending money over the past few decades, once Papy started helping with the bills. "We have a home," he insists more calmly, "I'm just not sure how to get back to it from here."

"Where is your home? Waterfall? Hotland? Perhaps I could escort you back," the other suggests.

Sans grins ruefully. "Thank you for offering, Papyrus. That's very kind of you!" For some reason, the skeleton sitting across from him shifts in agitation at the words. "But I'm afraid I live a bit farther away than that."

"New Home? What are you doing on the other side of the Underground if you live in the capitol?"

"No, no! That's not... I don't live in New Home, either." Sans sighs and scratches his temple with one finger as he considers the options set before him. Other than the likelihood of not being believed, is there any reason not to tell this Papyrus the truth about his circumstances? Wings hadn't said much before he left, but he wouldn't leave him alone in a situation that was particularly dangerous. <strike>Especially if that danger was wearing a face that Sans would have a difficult time not trusting.</strike> "Okay, I'm going to tell you the truth."

Papyrus raises a browbone at him. "Please, do."

"I don't belong in this universe. I'd go back to my world the same way I ended up here, except it was kind of an accident that brought me here and I'm not sure how I did it the first time." And Wings had also told him to wait for Papy's rescue instead of trying to get home on his own. "So, I have to wait for my brother to come collect me."

Papyrus wears an expression that Sans has only seen a handful of times on his brother's face, but has hoped every time he sees it that it will be the last time he does.

"I'm not crazy!" he shouts.

"I didn't say you were," the other placates, that odd angry-sad look coming over his face once more.

Sans doesn't think he has ever heard a more patronizing tone in his life. "Papyrus Lil Bro Gaster, I am not crazy! And you will treat me with proper respect or I will _ground_ you!"

The following silence is broken when Papyrus asks, "Excuse me?"

Sans eyelights shrink to pinpoints as he realizes what he has just done. "I'm so sorry!" he says quickly, "You reminded me of my brother for a second and I -- I'm sorry!"

Papyrus regards him quietly for a few seconds, but the time stretches out unbearably long as Sans waits for the other's reaction. "Your brother is also a Papyrus?"

"Y-yes."

More silence that has Sans fidgeting in his seat. Eventually, the tall skeleton monster asks, "'Lil Bro Gaster?'"

Sans flushes. "Th-that's a long story," he answers, "and Papy gets embarrassed whenever I tell it."

Papyrus hums an acknowledgement and brings a hand to his chin. "So, you claim to be the Sans from another world. You came to ours by accident and are stranded here until such a time that your Papyrus can retrieve you. For the time being, you are without any shelter, provisions, or allies. Does that sum it up?"

"Mostly," Sans admits but then forces himself to clarify, "My name is Sans Serif, though, not Comic Sans. I know I look a lot like Comic, but I'm not a different version of your brother. We lost our Comic during the war."

An expression flickers over the tall skeleton's face too quickly for Sans to identify as anything beyond 'unhappy' before it's swallowed by a look of concentration. "But your Papyrus is my counterpart in this other world?" he questions, eyesockets narrowing slightly.

Sans nods.

"Then what could have happened to your counterpart here?" Papyrus asks with a frown, more thinking aloud than seeking answers from the smaller skeleton, "I've only ever had one brother."

"I'm adopted," Sans rushes to assure the monster that looks too similar to the brother he left at home. He's always hated seeing Papyrus upset.

(Funny, just a few minutes ago he'd seen nothing but sharp angles and almost hadn't been able to recognize the Papyrus in front of him for what and who he is. And now, such a short time later, all he can see is his baby brother. It's in the facial expressions, Sans thinks, especially in the way the taller skeleton's sockets tense and relax. Papy only makes those kinds of faces when he's thinking hard, but unwilling to talk about what is really running through his skull.)

Papyrus' eyelights meet Sans' own. The taller skeleton's eye sockets are tight with worry.

"Be that as it may," Papyrus says, "the only skeletons still living that I know of are Sans and myself."

That's probably an accurate count for this world. He'd forgotten to ask Wings about his counterpart, but Gaster hadn't seemed the kind to have compassion for a human child that had been accidentally sealed in the Underground alongside monsterkind. He doesn't know how this world's Ryan died, but he doubts a Sans Serif was ever raised in his place.

"I, uh, actually don't think this Underground has another version of me." He doesn't elaborate.

Papyrus looks away with a scowl and Sans allows him several moments to process the news.

"So, uh," Sans says, carefully tempering the embers of hope burning in his soul, "does this mean you believe me?"

Papyrus stiffens and sits up so straight that Sans is surprised he doesn't hear a series of cracks and pops to accompany the motion. He shakes his skull and blinks his sockets as if coming out of a trance. As his eyelights refocus on Sans, he states, "Your story is fantastical."

"I --"

"However!" his brother's alternate interrupts before he can get any more out, "I have a discomforting feeling that you may convince me to change my opinion, given time. Regardless, I cannot allow you to wander the Underground without protection, so you will stay here with me and Sans -- my brother, Sans -- until you can return home."

"You mean that? I can stay with you?" Sans asks, leaning forward over the table as his eyelights form stars.

Papyrus seems startled but recovers quickly. "Of course! It would be unseemly to turn away a family member in need."

Sans hardly thinks about what he's doing when he bends spacetime on a whim and skips straight to Papyrus' side. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he says as he throws his arms around the other skeleton's rib cage in an impulsive hug.

"_How did you_ \--"

Sans looks up at him with a wide grin. "You're so cool, Brother!"

Magic flares brightly over Papyrus' cheekbones. He turns his skull away abruptly but gently pats the crown of Sans' head with one hand. "You are overreacting."

"Mweh heh heh! The Magnificent Sans is reacting with the exact right amount of enthusiasm! I am honored to be considered a member of your family, Papyrus."

Papyrus huffs, but it does nothing to diminish the deepening flush of magic or the pleased tilt of his skeletal grin. "As well you should be! Come, Sans, let us see about getting you settled in."

"Whatever you say, Papyrus!" Sans replies, releasing the tall skeleton.

"You'll have to sleep on the couch, I'm afraid," he says as he rises from his chair and leads the shorter monster out of the kitchen, "The house doesn't have a guestroom and it will take time to make any other arrangements to accommodate you."

"That's okay, Papyrus. We've expanded the family pretty recently in my world, too, and we had to juggle that with moving at the same time. Though, really, the moving helped in some ways."

"Do tell. I'd like to hear more about your world. Who are these new family members?"

Sans' grin grows. "Their names are Frisk and Flowey. And if you have trouble believing I skipped dimensions, you're really going to have a hard time believing their story!"

That doesn't stop Sans from telling Papyrus the whole tale. Well, everything starting just after Frisk's last reset. Sans doesn't see a reason to bring up the events from erased timelines when they _technically_ didn't happen in the first place. After all, what would be the point in bringing up _that_ unpleasantness?


	5. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy fourth anniversary, Undertale!

Sans stands frozen just inside the doorway of his home and stares. Vaguely he wonders if he's managed to shortcut himself into some kind of alternate reality because the sight in front of him makes no sense in the slightest. He's been out searching for 'Ryan' for hours, only to find the tiny skeleton sitting on his living room couch after he gives up any hope of being able to track him down. What's more, Papyrus is towering over the small monster, holding a child's sweater, and the two are obviously mid-argument when Sans walks into the house. "Uh, Boss? What's going on?"

"Sans, you're finally home!" Papyrus says in lieu of a real greeting. "This," he gestures with his free hand, "is Sans Serif." So, the little deviant _does_ have a font name, kinda. "He'll be staying here as my guest for an indefinite amount of time. Behave yourself." He turns back to address the third skeleton in the room. "Sans," he says, "this is my brother, Comic Sans, as I'm sure you've already figured out."

"We've, uh, already met, actually," the other monster admits before giving Sans an awkward little wave, "Hello, again."

"Hey there, buddy," Sans says, "You, heh, _skipped_ out on me before we could finish our chat." He flares his magic, his left eyelight growing large and bright as it takes on a dangerous crimson hue. His right eyelight winks out entirely.

The smallest skeleton's eye sockets grow wide at the aggressive display, properly intimidated, but then something happens that Sans hadn't been expecting. Both of the little interloper's eyelights flash a yellow color, there and gone again in an instant, that fills Sans with a sense of foreboding. He can't remember what yellow signifies, but whatever it is, it makes him want to run the other direction.

"Sans!" Papyrus yells, causing both of the other monsters in the room to startle, effectively ending the impromptu staring competition.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Yes, Papyrus?"

"No, not --" Papyrus huffs and addresses the monster sitting on the couch first, "Not you." He then turns his attention on Sans with crossed arms, "Brother! I just told you to behave yourself! Sans is a guest! One should not threaten their house guests!"

"Sorry, Bro," Sans mutters, cautiously shuffling further into the room.

"That's probably my fault," their 'house guest' pipes up, "I'm usually a pretty ice guy, but Sans is right, the way I left was very un-cool of me. I can't blame him for giving me a chilly reception, after my flaky behavior. Really, it's snow problem. In fact, the cold-shoulder treatment would be justified."

Sans can't help snickering, both at the puns and his brother's horrified expression.

"No! Not you, too!" Papyrus objects, "I _hate_ puns! And you don't change tone or cadence as you say them. You don't even italicize! Like, like you think they're the proper words to use!" Another thought seems to dawn on the tall monster and he demands, "How long have you been stealth punning?"

"Well, eyelight to think I've always had an appreciation for puns, but I'm sure I had to glow up enough to talk before eye could begin telling my own."

"One of those wouldn't even be noticeable to a non-skeleton!" Papyrus fumes, "It's like you're _targeting_ me with your awful puns!"

"Alright there, bud," Sans cuts in, "_Icy_ what you're doing here, and you may want to _chill out_ before you make the Boss lose his _cool._ Or it _cold_ end with you sleeping in the shed."

"Sans!"

"Yeah?"

"Yes?"

"_Augh!_ Brother, you are not helping!" the tallest of the three growls, "And I refuse to call either of you 'Sans' any longer! Both of you are too similar without sharing a name!" Critical eyelights dart over the smaller monsters for a brief moment before he declares his judgement. "You," he says, pointing at Sans, "are 'Red.' And you," he continues, now pointing to their new guest, "are 'Blue'."

Sans blinks his sockets and asks, "Did you seriously just color-code us?"

The skeleton on the couch seems to have a completely different complaint about the new nicknames. He tugs lightly on the scarf around his cervical vertebrae with one hand and points at it with the index phalanges of the opposite hand. "This is _cyan,_" he corrects.

Papyrus looks down at the little monster with a distinctly unimpressed expression on his face. "And now your name is 'Runt'," he states.

Sans bursts into unrestrained laughter. The gobsmacked look on the small monster's face is priceless.

The shortest frowns up at the tallest and says with a huff, "Papy, that's not very nice."

"I have told you not to call me by that childish moniker!"

"And I told you I'm not going to wear children's stripes!" the freshly dubbed 'Runt' retorts.

It would seem the other two monsters have managed to return to the same argument Sans had inadvertently interrupted earlier. Wait, isn't that one of his old jumpers? And his shorts! ...Of course, they are. Where else would Papyrus find clothes small enough to fit the new skeleton -- on _short_ notice, pfft! -- if not by rifling through Sans' old outfits?

"Your own clothes are filthy and need to be washed!"

"I'm not saying they aren't!" Runt exclaims, throwing his arms up in exasperation, "But there has to be something I could wear that isn't striped!"

"The stripes would help keep you safe," Papyrus attempts to persuade the other.

"Papyrus, I haven't worn stripes in centuries and I don't need to wear them now," Runt says stubbornly, "I can handle myself just fine."

"You have zero attack power, Runt!" Papyrus bursts in agitation.

Wait, what? Boss couldn't mean that literally. Could he?

"You were serious about calling me that?" Runt asks, tone balanced somewhere between incredulous and scandalized.

Papyrus, however, isn't finished speaking and ignores the other's question. "The moment anyone checks your stats they are going to see you as easy EXP and they are going to try to _dust you._ Do you understand that? I am trying to protect you. Now, for the Angel's sake, put on the stupid sweater!" He gives the aforementioned article of clothing in his fist a sharp shake as he holds it out to the other skeleton.

Tears of frustration start to pool at the edges of Papyrus' eye sockets and Sans is a half-second away from giving the Runt a _bad time_ for making his brother want to cry. Fortunately for everyone involved, Runt moves faster.

A small arm darts out and grabs a fistful of the black and red cloth. "I'm sorry, Brother," Runt says, eyelights focussed entirely on Papyrus' face, "I'm being stubborn. Thank you for the change of clothes. Is it alright if I get dressed in the bathroom?"

Papyrus gives a stiff nod and relinquishes the bundle of clothing.

"Thank you, Papyrus," Runt says one more time before dashing out of the living room and up the staircase. A bare second later the sound of a door slamming echoes through the house.

Boss collapses onto the couch with a groan and covers his face with his hands.

"Whoa there, Bro!" Sans says, leaning over the arm to grab the other skeleton's shoulder, "You okay?"

"Fine," Papyrus dismisses his concern without so much as peeking at him through his fingers.

Sans sighs before rounding the corner of the couch and then sinking into its cushions beside his brother. And on that note... "He calls you 'Brother'?"

"Yes." Papyrus lets his hands fall into his lap. "Apparently I remind him of his brother, another Papyrus skeleton. I find that I don't mind that, but... I don't think his mind is entirely there, Red." That name is going to take some getting used to, he can already tell. "He told me a strange story when I asked him about where he came from. And he spoke about people I've never met as if he expected me to know them. ...Shortly after I found him, he began speaking to thin air as if he was seeing someone there that simply didn't exist. The episode didn't last long and it's yet to happen again, but..."

"Boss, ya know I'll go along with whatever ya want," Sans says, "but is there a reason you decided to invite loony toons into the house?"

Papyrus scowls. "Sans, I could hardly turn him away! I wasn't exaggerating earlier. His attack power is actually zero! I have no idea how he has survived as long as he has in such a state, and I have no way of knowing how much of what he says reflects reality or the fantasy of his mind. What I do know is that someone will dust him at the first opportunity if no one steps in to protect him, and I don't see anyone else willing to do so.

"I'm tired of watching monsters senselessly dust each other, and, and... And I especially don't want to see Runt dusted! Despite his terrible puns. He doesn't deserve to be dusted for cheap EXP, and I refuse to stand by and let it happen!"

"Uh, wow. Okay, Boss," Sans murmurs, patting his younger brother's clenched fist, "If you're that serious about it... Guess I'll have to help you watch after the pipsqueak. Make sure he doesn't go wandering off while you have your back turned or nothin'."

Papyrus' frame loses some of its tension and a soft sigh escapes him. "Thank you, Red. The Great and Terrible Papyrus could manage on his own, of course, but your assistance in this matter would be... very welcome, Brother."

Sans offers up a wide grin. "Anytime, Boss."

He absolutely will help to keep a watchful eyelight on the newest skeleton. But, for the time being, he'll stay quiet about his own suspicions regarding Runt. After all, there's no need to upset Papyrus until he can confirm his fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small edit made regarding Runt's eyelights. Originally the paragraph read:
> 
> _"The smallest skeleton's eye sockets grow wide at the aggressive display, properly intimidated, but then something happens that Sans hadn't been expecting. The little interloper mirrors him, the other's left eyelight disappears and the right flashes a yellow color that fills Sans with a sense of foreboding. He can't remember what yellow signifies, but whatever it is, it makes him want to run the other direction."_
> 
> So, no need to worry about your memory if you remember the earlier version. You're not going crazy!


	6. The Face in the Mirror

Sans glares over the bathroom sink at his reflection in the mirror. More specifically, he glares at the black and red striped jumper he's just tugged on in place of his dirty t-shirt. It must have been one of the last striped shirts 'Red' had worn as a child because it's still a little baggy on Sans' admittedly small frame. For that matter, it's a good thing the shorts have a drawstring to help tighten them, or they'd be down around his ankles. Papyrus hadn't provided any socks, but Sans doesn't mind being barefoot around the house until the melted snow soaking his own footwear has had a chance to evaporate.

Dressed as he is, Sans can see why this Papyrus is treating him like a child. He _looks_ like one. And given the harsh edge he's witnessed firsthand in both brothers, he can only guess that the universe that shaped them is equally harsh. (It apparently allows legal murder, after all.) Taking that into consideration, it wouldn't be shocking if his optimism and friendliness were to be mistaken for naivete and childishness in this world.

It's still frustrating.

Maybe if he had some of Papy's height, that would help combat his deceptively youthful appearance. (How many times had others mistaken Papy for the elder brother based on nothing more than their difference in stature and Papy's seemingly more laid-back nature?) Unfortunately, something had gone not-quite-right when Wings had raised him and it had seriously stunted Sans' growth. He's grown roughly a foot since his last day as Ryan, but he remains decidedly on the short side.

And on that note...

"Wings! You ditched me!" he accuses the mirror in a quiet (for him) hiss.

His older brother materializes at his side, also facing the reflective surface mounted to the wall. "Forgive me, Sans, but I was distracting you and you needed to focus. This Papyrus has many similarities to our brother, but this universe has made him... Well, it was imperative that you pay attention to the reality of your situation."

"_Gah!_ " Sans screams when Gaster suddenly makes his own appearance, looming menacingly behind him. The short skeleton twists around and attempts to put distance between himself and what the primal part of his mind has identified as a threat. In his panic, he backs into the counter he'd been facing only a second ago and rams his ribs harshly against its edge. Sans hisses out a pained breath through his teeth as he regains his senses. He glares up at the creature in front of him. Gaster _knew_ and fully _intended_ for the consequences of his sudden appearance to happen.

Gaster ever so graciously waits for Sans to collect himself somewhat before rasping out, "What my squeamish counterpart is failing to say is that Subject 2-P is fully capable of killing you on the spot and would have done so had he deemed you to be a threat."

Sans opens his teeth to make a retort but holds his words back when he hears loud, hurried footsteps on the stairs. Three hard knocks on the bathroom door sound shortly thereafter. "Runt? Are you alright in there?" Papyrus calls, "We heard a scream."

"I tripped," Sans calls back, easily switching to a cheery tone for his (newest) younger brother, "but I'm okay. Sorry I worried you! I'll be more careful!"

He wouldn't have heard the following sigh if it had been Papy on the other side of the wooden barrier separating them, but this Papyrus isn't nearly as quiet as his first baby brother generally is, so he hears the exasperated exhale as clearly as if he were standing right next to the other skeleton. "Very well. Please join us downstairs once you are finished."

"Okay!" Sans waits until he hears footfalls retreating down the staircase before whirling around to confront Gaster. "What are you doing lurking in the bathtub?" Sans demands, "Is that just the creepiest place you could think of to scare me from? And, and there is so much wrong with what you said that I don't even know where to start!"

Despite his words, Sans finds himself listing off everything he finds objectionable. "Wings isn't squeamish; you're just cruel! And this Papyrus might have grown up in a harder world, but I refuse to believe it's turned him into some kind of senseless murderer! He wouldn't have hurt me because I wouldn't have given him any reason to hurt me. Most importantly, why did you call him 'Subject 2-P'? He's your brother --"

Wings coughs lightly to catch his attention. "Cousin," he corrects gently, "He never restructured the family after the war. I likely wouldn't have either if I hadn't found you."

Sans takes the new information in stride. "He's your cousin, your family, not an experiment!"

Gaster seems to shrug and his strange, goopy body moves in disconcerting ways with what should be a simple action. "He was both. In many ways, he has proven to be a far greater success than Subject 1-S has turned out to be."

Sans feels disgust and anger well up in his soul before it is just as quickly drained from his being and replaced with an almost apathetic sorrow.

"No wonder Red was so quick to make threats when he heard your name," Sans says, the hollow ache in the core of his being turning his voice flat, "You didn't treat them like family at all, did you? And I'll bet Sans and Papyrus paid a high price because of it. Normally, I like to think that anyone can be a little better if they work at it, if they really want to change, but Void-beings are what they are. Time is meaningless to you.

"I pity you, Gaster. You will always be the same sick creature that threw away what should have been most precious to you. You will never grow as a person. You will never conquer the failings in your character. And you will forever be a broken shade, doomed to watch a world you cannot touch as it moves on without you, because there is no one who loves you enough to try to save you."

Gaster's mask-like face doesn't move but he manages to give off the impression of a scowl regardless. "I have no need of, or desire for, your pity, little monster."

"You have it anyway," Sans answers.

Gaster looks past Sans at Wings. "I do not understand your investment in this foolish creature."

Sans peers back at his brother in time to see him shrug lightly.

"No one is asking you to, Doctor Gaster," Wingdings states calmly, "but you should know that I have always found Sans' judgement to be wise beyond his years. If you are unable to see it, well, that does not diminish my pride in him."

Sans grins up at his brother even as he feels Gaster's gaze fall on him again. Eventually, Gaster announces, "Your universe must be very soft indeed." The Void-being vanishes from sight before any more can be said.

Wings sighs quietly. "I wish I could stay longer, Sans, but we've drawn out this visit too long already. I'll return when you need me. Until then, remember that this world can be very different from the one that we grew up in. Listen to Boss, and be patient with Red."

Is that what he settles on calling this Papyrus? 'Boss?' He's pretty sure he heard Red call his brother as much, but it seems like a strange nickname to adopt. Then again, 'Runt' is apparently just fine to give out as an address here, and 'Boss' is leagues better than _that._

No, focus, Sans! Now is not the time!

"Wait!" Sans pleads, "How is everyone at home?"

"Everything at home is as it should be," Wings assures him, "Frisk has been convinced not to reset and Papyrus is working with Alphys to bring you home. Your family and friends are worried but otherwise fine. Papy will come to retrieve you in due time."

"You promise you'd tell me if something bad was going to happen, right?" Sans asks, eyelights searching his brother's face intently.

"I tell you everything you need to know, when you need to know it. But time and information are both powerful abstracts that must be carefully weighed. There are many experiences to have in life that you are better off having without my meddling, Sans. You know that," Wings says. The scattered monster glances over his shoulder at the bathroom door before adding, "Go on, now. Your hosts are getting restless."

"Alright." Sans tries to stifle the desire to mope and pout over his brother's answer. It's difficult, though, and a soft sigh passes his teeth before he can catch it. "Goodbye, Wings."

Wings gifts him with a sympathetic expression as he says his own farewell, "Goodbye, Sans."

His brother vanishes as if he was never there to begin with <strike>From a certain point of view, he never was. From another point of view, he always is.</strike> and Sans is left alone to face whatever lies waiting for him in an Underground that seems to be hungry for dust.


	7. Left Behind

Papyrus paces the living room floor in pent up anxiety. Sans should have been home by now. Even if his older brother hadn't been able to skip directly ho-- to the old house, even if he had to make a few stops along the way, Sans still should have been back by now.

The sound of the front door opening catches Papyrus' attention immediately. "Thank the Angel," he mutters under his breath before raising his voice to say, "Sans, you --"

Frisk and Flowey stare at him from the doorway in confusion.

"Sorry, just us," Frisk says, voice quiet. <strike>Not that the murder-child is ever loud.</strike> He reaches back and gently closes the door, all the while being careful to keep his eyes on Papyrus. The boy bites his lip briefly before asking, "Is Sans not home?"

"No," Papyrus admits bluntly.

"Well, where is he, then?" Flowey demands, easily the loudest voice in the house when Sans isn't home, "Don't tell me he already forgot what happened the last time he left _you_ in charge!"

Papyrus grimaces. <strike>It hadn't been pretty, but the time-altering brats in front of him had been responsible for a good ninety percent of the chaos Sans had come back to. He'd say it was all their fault, but claiming that remaining ten percent as his own failing ensured that his brother would never ask him to babysit the twin freakshows again.</strike>

"He went to grab some stuff from Snowdin, but he should've been back by now. I'm gonna go look for 'im," the monster decides. He can't take any more of this waiting. Honestly, he should have left to track the smaller skeleton down much sooner. "You two are good to make yourselves dinner, right?"

Frisk nods as Papyrus shoos (ha!) him out of the way so he can pull on his tennis shoes, but the monster hardly registers the silent answer. He doesn't really care what the answer is. He only asks to begin with because he knows Sans would, and it's all he can do to mimic the other monster in an attempt not to fall apart.

"If I'm not back with my bro in thirty minutes, go to Asgore's," he instructs.

"Our brother," Frisk corrects, quiet as ever but with that edge of determination in his voice that never fails to raise Papyrus' hackles.

Before he can snap at the human (which, admittedly, would be a mistake for several reasons) Flowey adds a correction of his own, "Sans would tell us to go to Toriel's. Or maybe Alphys' place. But he wouldn't tell us to go to Asgore."

Papyrus huffs. He redirects his annoyed glare to the occupant of the flower pot in Frisk's arms. "What are you talking about?" he asks in exasperation, "You two go visit him all the time!"

"Well, yeah, dingbat!" Flowey snaps, "But have you ever noticed that those visits are always short unless Sans comes with us? Or it's at a gathering with a whole bunch of people? There's a reason for that!" After a second's thought, he adds in a displeased grumble, "A lot more than just one, actually."

Papyrus scowls. He has an idea of where this is going, but for the flower's sake, he better be wrong. "And why might that be?" he asks in a tone just shy of becoming a snarl, "Sans trusts him. Isn't that good enough?"

"_Psh,_ not nearly. I doubt Asgore would be comfortable with it, for starters. And Toriel would blow a gasket for sure if she ever found out. We'd be lucky if she didn't get the human authorities involved! But, yeah, why not? We can go to Asgore's if you want," the flower snarks, "I'm sure the humans will stay completely calm and rational when Toriel tells them that Asgore's murdered six of their children."

He hates that he knows Flowey is right. "Fine!" Papyrus snaps, "Go bother the queen! I'm sure she has time to waste on the likes of _you_ while she's busy trying to smooth the integration of monsters into human society. Hell, do whatever you want! What do I care? It's not like anyone can stop you freaks, anyway!"

Papyrus skips out before Flowey (or Frisk, for that matter) has a chance to respond.

He lands on the edge of town about half a foot in the air and has to catch himself on his elbows and knees. Papyrus scowls. He isn't nearly as good at skipping as Sans is, let alone when he attempts to do it blind. Keeping his landing point in sight limits his range, but ultimately makes the journey far easier to manage. For all that he lacks Sans' easy skill in manipulating spacetime, he's always had good stamina, and chaining the skips together is (heh!) child's play.

He takes a winding route up Mount Ebott before landing just in front of the entrance to the Underground. The tall skeleton spares a moment to glance around the surrounding landscape, sending a small amount of magic out to test the area for the familiar effects left behind by his brother's magic. Failing to sense any of the subtle, tell-tale ripples in reality that are caused by Sans' skipping ability, Papyrus frowns and enters the mountain.

* * *

"Did you hear that? Did you hear what he said?" Flowey demands as he stares at the spot Papyrus had vanished from only a moment ago, "Oh, Sans is going to hit the roof when we tell him! Golly, and cursing, too! Do you think he'll make Papyrus wash his mouth out with soap? Can skeletons even do that?"

"I don't know," Frisk murmurs, finally turning away from their home's front entrance and heading for the living room.

Flowey hums a contemplative note from his place in Frisk's arms. "No," he decides, "I doubt they can. I don't think there's enough of a 'mouth' there to wash. Maybe the soap would just disappear like the food does!" The plant giggles. "Now, that's a thought. We should try that sometime!"

"No," Frisk murmurs as he sets the ceramic pot containing his companion on the coffee table before perching on the edge of the couch, "And we're not going to tell Sans."

"What?" Flowey demands as he stares up at the human in shock, "Why not?"

Frisk shrugs and picks at his dirty nails. "He's scared."

"So?"

Frisk bites his lower lip lightly before saying, "We didn't do nice things when we were scared, either."

Flowey sputters helplessly for a short while. Eventually, the small plant crosses his leaves over his stem and huffs, "You're starting to sound like Sans."

Frisk smiles. "Good."

Flowey blinks, snorts in amusement, and admits, "I guess there are worse people to be like. He is the _Magnificent_ Sans, after all."


	8. Comedy or Tragedy?

The terrified screech from the second floor causes both Papyrus and Sans to freeze mid-conversation. Precious seconds are wasted in stunned silence before the taller skeleton forcibly stabs the large spoon he'd been wielding into the pot on the stove and breaks into a run for the stairs. Sans abandons his chair just as his younger brother breezes by him and he instinctively falls in at Boss' heels to guard his back. Papyrus thunders up the stairs three at a time on his long legs and Sans does his best to scramble up them quickly enough to keep pace with his brother.

There's a disconcerting _lack_ of noise coming from the bathroom since that first scream, but for some reason Papyrus bangs on the door instead of simply tearing it off its hinges. "Runt? Are you alright in there?" Boss calls loudly through the flimsy barrier, "We heard a scream." The tall monster is practically vibrating in place.

The chipper tone that answers is so at odds with the tension in the hall that Sans nearly loses control of the magic he has readied.

"I tripped, but I'm okay," Runt responds, bright and bubbly and utterly disconnected from the ear-splitting shriek from just moments ago, "Sorry I worried you! I'll be more careful!"

What. The hell.

Sans glances up at his brother, all-too-aware that his left eye is flaring with barely restrained magic.

His brother sighs, looking as disgruntled as Sans feels. "Very well," Boss says, apparently deciding to play along with the pretense being put up by their guest, "Please join us downstairs once you are finished."

"Okay!" the too-cheery voice calls back.

Papyrus rolls his eyelights, turns on his heel, and marches away. Absently, he gestures for Sans to follow him. The shorter skeleton shuffles in his brother's wake all the way back to the kitchen where they both reclaim their previous places.

Sans crosses his arms over the table and buries his face in his jacket sleeves, shuddering as he comes down from a (would-be) combat high. Summoned-but-unspent magic buzzes low in his bones and leaves him feeling jittery. Slowly, carefully, he is able to calm the restless energy and resettle his magic. He only looks up again when he hears the distinct sound of bare-boned feet coming down stairs.

Sans leans back in his chair in time to catch Runt peeking around the corner to peer into the kitchen. "C'mon in, short stuff. We don't bite," Sans invites with a wide grin that displays every sharpened tooth in his jaws, "often."

Runt flushes at being caught, but instead of folding in on himself like Sans half-expects him to, the smallest skeleton throws his shoulders back, draws himself up to his full height (such as it is) and walks into the kitchen like he hadn't just been nervously trying to gauge the room before entering it. It reminds him of Papyrus when he was a child, back before the bravado had become true confidence. The image isn't helped by the bare feet and fact that Sans' old clothes hang loose on his slight frame. If he didn't know better, he'd think the other skeleton really was a kid.

Sans frowns.

_...Does_ he know better? Just 'cause Runt insists he hasn't worn stripes in centuries doesn't mean much. Stars know that Sans had kept two sets of clothes from the time that only the exceptionally gullible would believe he was an adult up until he reached his majority. If there was a situation in which Sans needed to be older in order to protect and provide for himself and Papyrus, then Sans had absolutely no qualms with lying through his teeth to convince others that he was. What's to say Runt hasn't landed himself in the same situation Sans had been in once upon a time?

"I, um, where should I put all this?" Runt asks, making a vague shrug-like gesture to indicate the armful of neatly folded clothing he has in his grasp.

Papyrus tisks, again thrusting his spoon into the much-abused spaghetti pot, and waves brusquely for the clothes to be handed over. "I'll wash them after dinner. You can leave your boots by the front door."

Runt awkwardly juggles his armload before he manages to grab the boots off the top in one hand. Boss wastes no time in snatching up the rest of it.

The tall skeleton tisks for a second time as he reaches for the bright blue scarf still wrapped around the other's cervical vertebrae. Runt all-but-yelps and he uses his newly freed hand to catch the other monster's wrist just as Papyrus begins to pull the scarf loose. Papyrus frowns.

"Runt, we went over this. Your clothes need to be washed." Sans is impressed. This is the most patient in a long time that he's seen his brother over something that is clearly aggravating him.

"I know! I know!" the small skeleton assures quickly, "I just..." Runt glances quickly at Sans before his eyelights return to Papyrus. "I don't like having my neck exposed. And this is the last physical reminder I have of my brother." Another furtive, none-too-subtle peek in Sans' direction. Is he looking for some kind of reaction? "I washed the worst of it out in the sink, already. And it will dry quickly enough on its own!" Wait, is he seriously using puppy-dog eyelights? Really? "Can't I just keep it on, Boss? Please?"

Sans startles at the unexpected form of address and he isn't the only one.

Papyrus releases the scarf and pulls his hand out of the other's grasp. "I told you to call me 'Papyrus,'" he reminds, but his tone is confused more than anything else.

The smallest skeleton pouts. He actually _pouts._ Sans is starting to become uncomfortably sure of his earlier suspicions about the other skeleton's age.

"'Papyrus' is a mouthful and I don't ask you to call me 'Sans Serif' all the time," Runt argues, "Red calls you 'Boss.' Why can't I?"

Papyrus rolls his eyelights and stalks by Sans on his way to the laundry room. Runt follows closely after him. "Because I _am_ Red's boss and _you_ are not in my employment."

Both things are true, but one has jack squat to do with the other. At some point, well before Papyrus had made it into the Royal Guard, his brother had gotten fed up with Sans' way of doing things and had insisted on taking control of the decision making for their little family of two. Sans hadn't fought him for it, only given him a snarky, new nickname as the price for peaceably handing over the reins. Of course, the dogi have taken to calling their lieutenant 'Boss,' too; so, it's really six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Papyrus yanks open the door to the under-stairs closet they've dubbed the 'laundry room' and carelessly tosses the clothes inside. Runt must really have him feeling harried. Boss usually starts yelling when Sans does that.

"Oh," Runt says, taking the chance to peer into the cramped space they'd shoved their dump-scavenged washing machine into before Boss slams the door closed again. Runt makes a quick detour to place his boots neatly by the front door before hurrying back to continue trailing after the tallest skeleton on their way back to the kitchen. "That's just as well! I need a job, anyway!" he chirps, causing Papyrus to stop short with something that almost looks like horror in his eye sockets, "And since I don't know how long I'll have to wait for Papy, it would be better to secure one sooner rather than later!"

"No! There... aren't any openings!" Papyrus practically flees the smaller monster in a futile attempt to end the conversation.

Sans desperately tries to smother the laughter bubbling up from his nonexistent gut and ends up wheezing through his teeth with a hand plastered over his mouth.

Runt frowns at both of them. He marches over to the table and settles into a chair beside Sans, but his gaze is locked on Papyrus as he asks, "Really? All the positions are filled? You don't need so much as a sentry?"

Papyrus groans. "Runt," he grabs the tomato sauce from the back burner, "you have _zero,_" and proceeds to dump it into the pot of noodles, "_attack power._" He gives the container in his hands a few rough shakes before slamming it back onto the stove. "I cannot, in good conscience, employ a monster that would be unable to protect themselves. Being a member of the Royal Guard makes you something of a target when it comes to certain unscrupulous individuals." The way his brother is stirring, Sans will be surprised if their dinner makes it to the table as anything other than a uniform mush.

"I can handle myself!" Runt persists, "I'm tougher than I look!"

"Really?" Sans cuts in, "'Cause ya look about as imposing as a marshmallow."

Runt blinks, obviously surprised by his sudden interjection into the conversation, but then his words finally seem to register and the pipsqueak's face smooths itself into a better deadpan than Sans would have thought him capable of only seconds ago.

"Thank you, Red, for the vote of confidence," he quips in a flat tone, "but I think I'm going tibia just fine without your input. Really, ulna brother you for any more help."

There's dead silence in the house for a full second and then --

"_Aurgh!_" Papyrus screams, obviously at his breaking point for puns today, and tosses the over-sized spoon like a javelin at the kitchen sink. It ricochets out and punches a hole through the drywall about a foot above the counter and then sticks there. "Could. You. Not?" he demands.

Sans, for one, bursts into raucous laughter. "S-stars!" he sputters between guffaws, "You," more chuckling, "you pun when you're _pissed off!_ And then Pap-- with the spoon-- and the wall!" He can't talk through his laughter anymore.

"Red!" his brother snaps, "Don't encourage him!"

"I'm s--" the laughing fit overcomes him again and he waves weakly in something of an insincere apology. This might well be the best bit of comedy he's witnessed in _years._

"I could shut him up if you want," Runt offers, still in that same deadpan tone. It causes Sans' guffaws to take on a wheezing quality as he struggles to get enough air to keep on voicing his merriment. The kid really hadn't been joking around about his preference for a _bone-dry_ delivery, had he?

"I'd like to see you try," Papyrus gruffs, "He's absolutely --"

He doesn't hear the rest of the sentence. His entire world goes dark between one instant and the next.

* * *

"...Sans..."

"Sans!"

"Sans, wake up!"

He comes back to himself slowly, groggy and grumpy at having his rest disturbed by his brother's loud voice. "Five mor' minutes, Pap..." he slurs.

"I told you he would be fine," a voice he is not nearly so familiar with pipes in, "Like you keep reminding me, I have an attack power of literally zero. My bullets don't do any damage."

Sans bolts upright with a bone attack clenched in his left fist and his eyelights focus intently on...

Runt.

Right, _Runt._ There's another skeleton that Boss had invited to live with them for a while. Probably better not to dust him. Sans allows the bone construct in his hand to dissipate.

Said skeleton house guest makes no indication that he is even aware that he'd just been the focus of Sans' hostile intent. Runt remains seated at the table and is poking dubiously at the bowl of food in front of him. He lifts the spoon in his hand (a regular-sized one, the big one Boss had been using to cook is still embedded in the wall) and then allows the pasta-flavored tomato paste to splatter back into the bowl from its foot-high drop. There is nary an intact noodle in sight. He eyes the results critically before he returns to experimentally poking at Papyrus' latest attempt to make a palatable meal.

And on the subject of the would-be chef, Papyrus roughly grabs his mandible and forces Sans to look up at him. "Focus, Sans!" he commands, small tell-tale signs of worry marring his expression, "How do you feel? What is your HP at?"

"Uh..." Sans blinks up at his brother, "Fine? It's at, uh..." A quick self-check gives him his answer, but he's a bit puzzled by it. "It's at seven, Boss."

"Seven?" Papyrus questions, "You're usually at six or five."

"Yeah, I'know," Sans grumbles, pulling away from his brother's hold, "How long was I out?"

"Approximately eight minutes, not nearly long enough that it should have boosted your HP."

"That's a normal side-effect, to raise the current HP by a point or two," Runt says, setting the bowl aside, "Other common side-effects are confusion and disorientation." He looks at him directly as he asks, "Well, Sans, what's the last thing you remember?"

Sans frowns. What did he remember before falling asleep? "You did some of the best deadpan comedy I've ever heard, Boss flipped his lid, and I about died laughing. Then..." Sans tries to think of what came next but there's nothing there in his memory. It just ends. But if he puts together a few of the context clues he's been given... "You attacked me!" he realizes.

Runt's eyelights suddenly find what must be a simply _fascinating_ patch of wall far to Sans' right. He taps his index fingers together as a guilty flush steals over his face. "Can it really still be considered an 'attack' when no harm was meant or inflicted?" he inquires as if he's suddenly some philosophical-type.

"Yes," Sans says bluntly. He performs a check on Runt as he gives his answer. The other skeleton straightens, no doubt sensing the ping on his magic, but doesn't take any aggressive actions. He trusts Papyrus to protect his back if that changes, so he turns his attention to reading the information from the check and immediately freezes in place.

It's not written out in his usual Comic Sans.

** * SUBJECT 4-S 0(???) ATK 2(0) DEF**   
** * More dangerous than he first appears.**   
** * His soft heart will see him dead.**

Sans can feel his own dread threatening to drown him.

He'd let his guard down. Just because Runt seems harmless doesn't mean that he is. Worse, he'd _known_ to be suspicious of the small monster and he'd still allowed himself to be lulled by the other's benign facade. Even if Runt himself proves to have no ill-intent toward Papyrus or Sans, there could easily be something dangerous lurking in his past and Sans has _no idea_ of what could be hiding in it.

The unstable Wingdings characters quivering in front of his face only continue to mock him.


	9. Kindred

"I could shut him up if you want," Sans offers in irritation.

He's expecting a gently worded (and inappropriately humored) but still firm 'no' for an answer. That isn't what he gets. Because this isn't _Papy_ he suggested the option to.

This world's Papyrus, 'Boss' if Sans can convince him to accept the nickname from him, huffs, "I'd like to see you try."

And Sans _knows,_ even as he follows through on his word, that he is letting his temper get the best of him. The problem is that he's having a particularly difficult time finding the will to _care_ about that right now.

A small, bone-shaped bullet is easily formed directly over Red. It hurtles downward at his command and instantly disintegrates into a cloud of tiny particles upon making contact with the top of the laughing skeleton's skull.

Red immediately falls silent and slumps forward onto the table.

Sans gets all of a half-second (if one is generous with their estimation of the time) to impassively take in his work and then his soul pings blue. The small skeleton gasps as he goes flying backward from his seat at the table and the chair tips over, hitting the ground with a resounding _Bang!_

Sans hardly hears the loud noise, too busy choking on his breath when his back slams into the wall and the collision jars his ribs. _Again._ Through the shock, in the instant just before the pain registers fully, he notes that he really needs to start taking better care of them or the fractures might become worse under all the rough treatment he's been subjecting them to.

A bright blue, dangerously vibrant bone construct explodes from the wall behind his back and through his rib cage, pinning him in place.

His head snaps up to look at the tall skeleton towering over him and Sans feels his eyelights gutter out at the sight. Oh, sweet Angel, he is an _idiot._

"Just what do you think you are doing?" Papyrus snaps, eyelights blazing a dangerous crimson. His entire stance promises swift death if he doesn't receive a worthy answer to his query.

"Papy-- Papyrus!" Sans corrects himself quickly, raising his hands in a silent plea for mercy and peace. The construct piercing his ribs creaks ominously, forcing Sans to still. If he moves too much and breaks the brittle magic, he's a dead mon. His HP has always been low and it's currently compromised thanks to his fractured ribs. He could afford one more minor injury, maybe two if they were both exceptionally small, but Sans can tell that the attack lodged in his chest has more than enough energy on its own to wipe out the remainder of his HP.

"Papyrus, he isn't hurt," Sans says as he begins again, mindful to stop the faux-breaths he takes habitually and keep his entire torso still as stone. It takes a little extra effort to modulate his vocal magic without any 'breathing' to provide a steadying anchor for tempo or volume, but that is currently the least of his worries. "He's fine! I promise! I'd never want to hurt Sans. He's only --"

"_Ha-haurchk!_"

Boss' eyelights disappear in surprise and he spins on his heel to stare at his older brother. Sans, for his part, blinks and has to fight the impulse to move in an effort to peer around the skinny skeleton blocking his view. "...asleep," he says, belatedly finishing his last sentence. Not knowing what else to do, he remarks, "Wowzers, I didn't think it was possible for a skeleton to snore that loudly."

"_...Haunch...Hn....Haurchch..._"

"Asleep," Boss says, "He's _asleep._ Unbelievable! That lazy ass --"

"That's what they do."

Boss whirls around to refocus on Sans and, thankfully, his eyelights have returned to their normal white color. "Explain," he demands.

"My bullets, that's what they do," Sans answers, "They make their target sleep. Sans will be fine. He's just having an unscheduled nap. That's all. He'll be okay. I promise, he'll be okay."

Boss glances over at Red and his continued snoring before turning his full attention once more on Sans, considering the smallest skeleton intently. There is an unwavering scowl adorning the larger monster's face. It makes Sans want to fidget. Unfortunately, that is an exceptionally bad course of action at the moment and unavailable to him if he doesn't want to end up as so much dust gracing the kitchen floor.

Without warning the blue bone construct dissipates, harmlessly phasing out of existence and leaving Sans feeling weak-kneed. "Sit," Boss hisses.

Sans has no problem obeying. Given half-an-excuse, his legs abruptly collapse under him and he falls into a graceless heap on the floor. Sans takes a large breath, more in an effort to calm himself than for any other reason. It pulls unpleasantly at his ribs, but that's a quiet thought drowned out by many, many louder ones.

He'd nearly died, and he'd nearly died by Papyrus' hand. True, this isn't the younger brother he'd been half responsible for raising since he was a child himself, but he's already claimed this Papyrus as another brother and there is a part of his mind that is having trouble keeping the two separate despite everything that marks them as different beings. Either way, the stark fact of the matter is that his brother almost killed him.

That one thought alone threatens to reduce Sans to an undignified, rattling pile of bones. The thought gets derailed when the small skeleton finds himself being scooped up by a pair of strong, if thin, arms. A different, equally horrible thought dawns on him as he allows himself to be carried by the larger monster. Papyrus thinks he's capable of hurting -- perhaps even of _dusting_ \-- Comic. Papyrus thinks he has the potential to be a kin killer.

Sans doesn't think as he clings to the monster holding him and babbles, "I'm sorry, Papy! I'm so sorry!"

Papyrus grunts in response. Sans barely hears him through his own spiralling hysteria.

"I didn't mean to scare you!"

"I was not scared!"

"I promise I didn't mean to scare you!"

"I said I wasn't--"

"I'd never hurt him! I swear, I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt Comic!"

Papyrus is silent.

"You shouldn't ever have to lose another brother, Papy!"

The tall skeleton sighs and jostles the smaller monster in his arms. Sans yelps softly at the unexpected motion. "Hush now," he commands but there's no bite in his voice. He sets Sans on the kitchen table before righting the chair that had been knocked over and gesturing for the small monster to reclaim his earlier seat. He doesn't move to go back to his own chair, instead choosing to remain standing at the other skeleton's shoulder. Papyrus grasps his jaw, grip firm but careful to avoid causing harm or further upset, and forces Sans to look at him. "Sans, who am I?" he questions, voice oddly neutral.

"Papyrus?" Sans answers with an uncertain furrow of his brow.

"Which 'Papyrus' am I?" the other insists.

"What do-- Oh. Oh..." Sans feels magic flood his skull in a bright flush, "Sorry, Brother, I know you don't like to be called 'Papy.'"

Papyrus sighs again and gives a decisive nod. He releases his hold on Sans' skull and folds his arms over his leather breastplate. "Good," he says, "Back with me, Runt?"

Sans ducks his head. "Yes, Boss. Sorry. I guess I lost track of where I was, for a minute there."

"Stop apologizing. Once is sufficient. If that is ever not the case, it will be made clear to you."

"Sor--" Sans bites the word in half and corrects it to, "Yes, Boss." He dares to peek up at the other skeleton.

Boss tips his head in approval. "You are _never_ to attack Red again. Or myself for that matter. Is that understood?"

"Yes!" Sans agrees immediately, "I'm s-- I wasn't going to hurt Red, Brother! I swear I wasn't! I forgot neither of you know. My magic is strange. Where I'm from, everyone already knows. I didn't mean to scare you."

Boss huffs. "I was _not_ scared!"

"Pa-py-rus," Sans says with enough exasperation and exaggerated emphasis to put the other's annoyed exhale to shame, "Of _course_ you were frightened! Red is your brother and you thought he was being attacked. You reacted like any good brother would! Being afraid when the people you love are in danger is nothing to be ashamed of! It's normal! I shouldn't have frightened you like that."

"The Great and Terrible Papyrus fears nothing!" Boss insists with a hiss, shoulders hunched and eyelights burning a searing hole through the edge of the tabletop.

Sans rolls his eyelights. The short monster stands on his chair in order to rest both of his hands on the taller skeleton's shoulders. "Papyrus," he says, mindful to keep his tone low and soothing, "look at me." Begrudgingly, Papyrus does as Sans requested. "We're brothers, aren't we?"

Papyrus doesn't answer for several long seconds and it's enough time that Sans begins to worry that his actions have broken that fragile, new bond. "Yes, we are."

Sans swallows the sigh of relief that wants to escape him. "That makes us kin."

Papyrus' face takes on an odd expression. "I suppose so," he says.

"And Red is your brother, which makes him kin of my kin," Sans finishes.

The tall skeleton's brow pinches and angles downward in the middle. A second later he reluctantly admits, "I am... unfamiliar with that term. The way you say it implies greater importance than the words alone suggest."

"Oh, well..." Sans thinks for a moment. It's a part of skeleton culture in his universe, and as such only really important to himself, Papy, and Wings, anymore. Considering what he knows of Gaster, assuming that this Papyrus would know anything specific to skeleton traditions or customs seems foolish in hindsight. Gaster had likely given it up as a dead culture and Red would have been too young to have a real grasp on it when the barrier sealed them in the Underground. And, even beyond all of that, Sans is assuming that specific concepts remained unchanged across their respective worlds. He has no guarantee of that. All he has are guesses.

Still... There's no reason Sans can't teach Boss some of _his_ culture while he's here, whether or not it was ever actually practiced in this world. Maybe the other will even decide to adopt some of it for himself.

"Where I'm from," he begins, taking care in which words he chooses, "kin are the people you choose to be your family: siblings, parents, children, and sometimes as far as cousins, niblings, grand--"

"What is a 'nibling'?" Papyrus interrupts.

The utterly bewildered look on his newest brother's face is almost enough to cause Sans to fall into a fit of giggles. He manages to suppress his reaction to a mere amused grin. "Nieces and nephews!" he answers, "But I like to say 'nibling' more. It's a fun word!"

"It sounds like something to be snacked on," Boss states bluntly.

Sans doesn't bother trying to stifle his mirth a second time. "_Mweh heh heh!_ How do you know we don't?" he asks mischievously.

"_Tsk!_ You're appalled at the mere thought of killing," Papyrus counters, "I sincerely doubt you'd deign to practice cannibalism."

"Only on designated holidays," Sans replies.

Papyrus stares at him with large, shocked eyelights.

"_Mweh heh!_ Joking! Papyrus, that -- _Mweh heh heh heh!_ \-- that was a joke! Only a joke! Relax!"

Boss' skull flushes red. "I knew that!" he claims

"Sure, Boss," Sans pretends, rather poorly, to agree, "Now, as I was saying, sometimes kin includes cousins and niblings and grandparents and grandchildren. But the important thing is that kin is the family you choose for yourself. Of course, some of your kin may choose to include people as their kin that you don't consider your own, hence 'kin of kin.' You don't have to get along with the kin of your kin, you didn't choose them like you did your direct kin, but it _does_ mean that someone you care about cares about them. Which is to say, to take care of kin of your kin is the same as caring for your kin, and to harm kin of your kin is the same as harming your kin."

Sans gentles his voice as he finishes, "Red and I probably aren't going to miraculously start liking each other. But Red is still kin of my kin, and doing anything to actually _hurt_ him isn't something I'd ever want to do." He hopes that they can gradually come to a peaceful understanding and maybe build a friendship one day, but that is a thought to be pursued at a later time. "I promise, Red is safe with me."

Papyrus nods but his eye sockets pinch slightly at the edges and Sans recognizes the look as one of worry. Boss doesn't make Sans wait long before voicing the concerns running circles in his skull, "We don't have anything like this 'kin of kin' custom, here. I cannot promise that you will be equally safe with Red."

"Well, you may not have a _formalized_ concept that matches it," Sans allows, "but I'm sure Red has done things in the past that he normally wouldn't have bothered with except he knew they were important to you. Hasn't he?"

Papyrus' eyelights brighten with understanding. "He has." The taller monster seems to puff up ever so slightly with pride. "And he --Yes, you will likewise be safe with Red," he decides with a satisfied tilt to his skeletal grin.

"See, everything will work out just fine!" Sans beams up at his brother, relieved to have smoothed over this latest snafu. Now, if he can only ensure that he doesn't wake either Boss or Red with tonight's inevitable nightmare, he might be able to avoid stumbling directly into another one.


	10. Medicine of a Kind

"See, everything will work out just fine!" Runt assures as he beams up at Papyrus.

Only a moment later, the taller monster begins to note the tell-tale signs of a flagging combat high in the smaller skeleton. Papyrus watches as Runt winces slightly, eyelights momentarily dimming and turning hazy at the edges. It's to be expected, after their unfortunate misunderstanding, <strike>He refuses to let himself feel guilty for protecting Sa-- Red.</strike> but it serves as a good reminder all the same.

"Lift your shirt," Papyrus directs.

"What?" Runt blinks.

Papyrus rolls his eyelights. "I was not delicate in how I handled you and your ribcage is compromised. I need to check if the cracks were exacerbated."

"I'm okay!" Runt is quick to insist.

Papyrus reaches for his patience and resists the urge to simply yank the sweater up with his own two hands so that he can examine the injury. "Runt, let me see."

"I'm fine!" Runt holds his hands up as if that will ward off the unwanted concern and offers an unconvincing, too-wide grin. Papyrus would need to be an idiot to miss the lie. Runt's eyelights have become less focussed and he is swaying ever-so-slightly on his feet. It's nothing a short rest won't help, but it's obvious that the small monster is crashing hard from the earlier spike in his magic. "You don't need to worry, Papy-rus, really!"

He chooses to ignore the stumble over his name. "I am not worried, but allowing an injury go unmonitored is foolish. Even a minor one."

Runt hesitates, and then, "Okay."

Papyrus tries to disguise his surprise. He had been expecting to spend several minutes more arguing over the matter, considering the way the shorter skeleton had dug in his heels over wearing children's stripes. Regardless, there will be time to properly learn all of Runt's little idiosyncrasies later and his attention in this moment is best spent ensuring the cracks haven't worsened due to his own actions.

He takes his time, carefully examining the pattern and length of each break. He gingerly presses on a few suspect places to test the resistance of the bone and estimate the depth of the surrounding fractures. Runt stays admirably quite under his ministrations, though he does take a sharp breath whenever Papyrus presses on his damaged ribs. Finally, he nods in satisfaction and allows the short monster to drop the sweater's hem back into position.

"No worse than it was before," he announces.

"That's good," Runt says, relief in his voice. Papyrus wonders if perhaps Runt was actually worried about the fractures or if he is merely glad that there is no more prodding to endure.

"Yes," Papyrus agrees, "Food and rest should be all that's needed." He dishes up a bowl of what was once spaghetti, but is now admittedly closer to a paste or especially thick stew, and slams it down in front of his smallest brother. "Now, eat," he commands.

"O-okay!" Runt yelps. Papyrus only breaks his stare after the first spoonful has made it into the monster's mouth. Runt immediately begins coughing. "Oof! That's strong!"

"_Hm..._" He may have gotten a bit aggressive on the intent portion for tonight's supper. "Keep eating, Runt. Your body needs the magic."

A sigh sounds behind him. "Yes, Boss."

He'll let the slight against his cooking go, for tonight at least. He's well aware this isn't his best showing and he's still reveling in the thought of having a brother that doesn't fight him _every_ step of the way over their wellbeing.

"Sans, wake up!" He says as he shakes Red's shoulder, "Wake up!"

"Uh... That probably won't work," Runt pipes up, "Not for another few minutes, at least."

He releases Red reluctantly. Red snores on like nothing happened. "How long?" he asks.

"Oh. Well, usually about half-an-hour if the, uh, target isn't disturbed and they had a good night's sleep. If they didn't sleep well, it might trigger their natural sleep cycle. If someone is trying to wake them, it's been as little as twenty -- maybe fifteen minutes. I think? We haven't really timed it at the lab or anything." Runt shrugs and Papyrus struggles to suppress a shudder.

Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to kill or incapacitate someone, especially with how heavily Red appears to be sleeping. The thought of a monster with the ability to instantly force such vulnerability upon another with a single attack... And Runt appears completely unaware of how unnerving and dangerous his ability truly is.

Papyrus pushes the unwanted thoughts aside. "I see."

"Red will be fine, Boss," Runt persists, clearly picking up on his unsettled state, "I promise, he'll be okay. Just give him a chance to -- _Ahem!_" the smallest brother coughs into his hand only to flinch and make an aborted move to cradle his ribcage, "give the effects a chance to wear off on their own."

"You were about to pun, weren't you?" Papyrus asks in an accusing deadpan.

"No..." Runt says, drawing the word out and glancing away.

Papyrus scoffs. "You," he states with easy conviction, "are a terrible liar."

"Sorry, Boss."

Papyrus waves him off, "Nyeh."

Runt giggles and the tallest brother frowns in confusion. "What?"

"Nothing! It's just that Papy does that, too," Runt confesses, "You do realize that 'nyeh' isn't a real word, right?"

If he had a nose to stick in the air, he would do so. As it is, he thinks he manages a fair approximation of the action. "It is if I decide it is!" he informs the other skeleton.

Runt attempts to smother further giggles behind his hands.

Papyrus can't help smiling in return.


	11. Perspective

Sans tries not to feel too guilty as he picks at his meal and watches Boss anxiously prod Red every twenty seconds or so. The magic will wear off soon enough, especially with Boss seemingly unable to cease pestering his snoring brother, but he's given up on trying to reassure the tall skeleton. Some things you just need to experience for yourself before you're able to accept them as true.

Eventually, roughly twelve minutes after getting hit by one of Sans' bullets, Red stirs when Boss jostles him for what seems like the billionth time.

"Sans!" Boss says while shaking the older skeleton's shoulder.

"_Ngh..._" Red moans quietly and curls away from the irritating disturbance to his rest.

Boss is not about to be swayed so easily, especially now that he has gotten a response. "Sans, wake up!" he demands, shaking harder.

"Five mor' minutes, Pap..." Red mumbles.

Sans sighs softly in relief. Papyrus' anxiety was starting to get to him. Maybe the tense atmosphere in the kitchen can finally be dispersed.

"I told you he would be fine," he says, attempting to keep a calming tone but sounding exasperated despite himself, "Like you keep reminding me, I have an attack power of literally zero. My bullets don't do any damage."

Red springs upright like a jack-in-the-box toy, clutching a bone construct in one hand. He blinks a few times to refocus his eyelights and Sans uses that time to turn back to his meal as casually as he can manage.

Obviously, Red isn't at all comfortable around him just yet. For lack of anything better (and non-threatening) to do, Sans goes back to poking at his supper and making a bit of a show of it as he does so. He lifts a spoonful of spaghetti-paste into the air and lets it splatter-spill back into the bowl. He eyes the mess that isn't quite liquid. It looks far too bland and innocent for the amount of magic Boss somehow pushed into it. Would Boss be open to cooking lessons? Food shouldn't try to attack your magic levels as you eat it.

"Focus, Sans!" Boss snaps. Sans glances his way before realizing that the taller skeleton is far more likely to be demanding Red's attention right now. "How do you feel? What is your HP at?"

"Fine?" Well, that's very reassuring. With answers like that, even Sans will start to worry. "It's at, uh... It's at seven, Boss," Red reports.

"Seven? You're usually at six or five." Oh, is that all? Sans relaxes back into his over-examination of dinner, debating the wisdom of actually taking another bite versus skipping the rest of the meal into a convenient snow pile behind the house. Somehow, he doubts Boss is going to let him leave the table if there is still food in the bowl when he tries.

"Yeah, I'know," Red grumbles at their brother, "How long was I out?"

"Approximately eight minutes," Boss answers, which is not the count Sans got, but... Well, it has been an exciting stretch of time. One or both of them could easily be wrong and it's not as if the exact number matters much. Boss finishes the thought by saying, "not nearly long enough that it should have boosted your HP."

Ah, that's probably his cue to explain a few things.

"That's a normal side-effect, to raise the current HP by a point or two," he says while pushing his bowl aside, "Other common side-effects are confusion and disorientation." He shifts his focus to rest solely on Red. He doesn't expect there to be any complications -- He only hit Red with one little bullet, after all. -- but it's better to ask some basic questions now and be sure, than to assume too much and regret it later."Well, Sans, what's the last thing you remember?"

The other skeleton scowls faintly as he tries to recall his most recent memories. After a moment, he says, "You did some of the best deadpan comedy I've ever heard, Boss flipped his lid, and I about died laughing. Then..." He pauses and a realization flashes through his eyelights. "You attacked me!" he accuses.

Welp, nothing wrong with Red's cognitive abilities! That's good!

Sans looks away as he feels a raging blush take over his face. Using a bullet on Red was, admittedly, not one of his finer moments. "Can it really still be considered an 'attack' when no harm was meant or inflicted?" he asks. It's a reasonable question, he thinks.

"Yes!" Red snaps back.

The check isn't fully unexpected after what he's put Red through, but the ping on his magic sends something of a jolt through him, all the same. What _is_ fully unexpected is Gaster's sudden appearance. Sans stiffens in his chair. A quick glance at the other two skeletons in the room confirms that neither of them can see the Void-being.

Gaster holds a single finger up to his mask-like face in a shushing gesture. They both know it's utterly redundant. If Sans reacts to his presence in any way, he'll only sound and look crazy. It's not as if Gaster can do anything that will affect the other two, anyway, and his interactions with Sans are limited by the very nature of his existence.

"You will ask the questions once you have satisfactory privacy to voice them in," Gaster rasps, "but, for now, I will give you the answers."

Sans has to fight a scowl and gives the barest of nods.

Gaster's slash of a mouth stretches into a ghoulish grin. The scattered being reaches out and plucks a finger over what appears to be empty air but Sans has to bite back a gasp at a second ping on his magic. Mauve-colored magic, bordering on becoming red, bleeds up and down the normally invisible string of magic that holds Red's check of Sans' stats.

Sans freezes stock still. That shouldn't be at all possible, on several levels.

As promised, Gaster begins to answer the questions Sans isn't at liberty to ask yet. "As his raised, you share a soul-deep connection to my counterpart, but you already know that. It is, after all, the reason you can perceive him in his scattered state," he says, "What you do not yet know is how easily magic can be tricked.

"You were raised by a Wingdings Gaster. A specific Wingdings Gaster, yes, and I am not him, nor do we share such a connection between us, but magic is not quite so clever as to be able to tell the difference if another Wingdings Gaster were to reach out and take advantage of that connection." He gestures in an almost negligent manner to the string of magic held taut between Sans and Red.

"Take heed, little monster, I am far from being the worst version of your brother to be found in the multiverse and many of my counterparts have found themselves scattered and lost to the Void. A drowning monster often takes a would-be rescuer down with them. Your circumstances make you both valuable and vulnerable. I would strongly advise you to _avoid_ traveling outside of your own universe, once you have returned to your home.

"As for 1-S," Gaster says, sparing only the briefest of glances at his younger cousin, "my options to communicate with him are limited and I couldn't pass up such an opportunity. A check is difficult to falsify, though it can be done, despite your belief to the contrary. A check is, however, easily enough altered if one focusses on reprioritizing what information is to be given; and you cause sufficient havoc here that I felt 1-S deserved some form of warning."

Sans peeks around Gaster to look at the mauve-tinged check hovering near Red. Unfortunately, he's gotten rusty at _reading_ Wingdings and all the characters are backward from his perspective. Gaster releases his tenuous hold over the check and the whole thing fades from Sans' view again before he gets farther than 'SUBJECT 4-S 0'.

He feels vaguely irritated at being reduced to '4-S' but it was probably inevitable that Gaster would view him as yet another experiment. The scattered being seems to see everyone as a science project.

"When it comes to 2-P, I'm afraid giving any such warnings would be _pointless,_" Gaster says, drawing Sans' attention back to him, "Do not forget to ask the questions, little monster. Until then."

Gaster disappears as suddenly as he had appeared and leaves Sans with a very strong desire to scream.


	12. Recent History

Papyrus swears as some of the wires coming out of the breaker box spark and the lights snap from a dim red to a bright white as full power is restored to the Hotland Lab. "Stinkin', Dump-scavenged, scrap," he mutters as he cautiously flexes stinging phalanges. Despite his foul mood, everything seems to be in working order, both with his hand and with the lab. He makes a beeline for the wall of monitors and pulls up every camera Alphys has ever set up in Snowdin.

There hadn't been any sign of Sans at the house. There hadn't even been any sign that Sans had arrived at the house to begin with. The snow was so untouched that the whole town looked pristine, the house had been exactly as they left it when they moved out, all of the things Sans had mentioned wanting to collect were still in their places before Papyrus chucked them into his inventory during his search, and any weaknesses in spacetime were at his and Sans' commonly used skip points, none of which felt like they'd seen a new enough arrival to have been active within the last few hours.

Papyrus rewinds all of the tapes for the past two hours and then plays them back at several times their normal speed. All he needs to watch for is any kind of motion, after all. What, with the entire Underground being empty. He finds none. The Snowdin of the past few hours has been as still as a tomb. There hasn't been so much as a fresh snowfall. He expands his search outward, section by section, until he's sat through the surveillance footage for the entire Underground. Sans isn't on any of it. His brother never made it to Underground in general. Which begs the question, where the hell is he?

The lanky skeleton frowns. Did Sans lie about where he was going or did something go horribly wrong? Neither answer would make him happy, but if those are his options, he'd much prefer the former to the latter. Papyrus leans back in his boss' old computer chair as he stares at the monitors in contemplation.

He could try to track his brother's trail, but it was going cold fast and it would be tiring to constantly ping magic to follow the skip if it went very far. Just thinking about undertaking such a task makes him want to take a nap. But maybe...

He'd been in the middle of a pet project when the anomalous time-loops (that he now knows were caused first by <strike>the obnoxious weed</strike> Flowey and later by <strike>the dirty brother killer</strike> Frisk) had rendered any further progress impossible to sustain. The half-built machine was meant to analyze magic. Specifically, it was meant to detect and analyze magic that affected spacetime because he'd wanted to better understand the changes in his and Sans' magic caused by the Accident. (It had been a stepping-stone project to help him learn what he needed to in order to have a chance at fixing Dings' last machine and bringing his eldest brother back from the Void. Which he _would_ figure out, eventually. <strike>Despite how dizzyingly monumental the task of doing so is...</strike>)

If he can find where Alphys shuffled the incomplete project off to, he's certain he can have it finished by midnight. (Having access to actual stores instead of scavenging the Dump for necessary parts was so convenient he couldn't begin to put to words the amount of frustration it saved him on any project. And though he'd previously given up on physically assembling the machine, he's run the numbers and gone over the design dozens of times in his head.) He has his goal clearly in mind. He can _do_ this.

Altering the magic analyzer to track Sans should be child's play. Once he manages to find and finish it, anyway.

Papyrus spins in Alphys' chair and is rudely reminded of the lab's perpetual state as a clutter farm. He swears again. This is going to take some time.

**Author's Note:**

> This author values and encourages:
> 
>   * Constructive critique
>   * Notification of typos, misspellings, grammatical mistakes, and other writing errors
>   * Feedback on storytelling strengths and weaknesses
>   * Theorizing on character motivations, past events, future story beats, etc.
>   * Reader-to-reader conversation in the comments
> 
> In the comments section, this author generally:
> 
>   * Replies to questions
>   * Attempts to avoid spoilers
>   * Is an imperfect human being, but such is life


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